


Craving Me Like A Honey Plum

by madeinessos



Category: Captain Marvel (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Gen, Pre-Canon, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 08:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18257339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeinessos/pseuds/madeinessos
Summary: Minn-Erva just wants to be left in peace with her midnight snack and contemplation. But The Strange and Irritating Mess of Confusions, the human for short, is always right behind for a nightmare-induced hot drink.





	Craving Me Like A Honey Plum

**Author's Note:**

> Title from NAO's "Apple Cherry."

Minn-Erva watched the human storm into the kitchens for the eighth night in a row.

The human. Vers, they had decided to call her, after that dented scrap of metallic badge that had somehow managed to cling to her despite the wreckage, or her to it. The badge was obviously incomplete, and it had been made in C-53 of all places, and it was ugly. Minn-Erva disliked it. She disliked it very much. Minn-Erva had also taken to calling the human, privately, in her head, as That Strange and Irritating Mess of Confusions From C-53. Quite the mouthful. Thus, in short: the human. Though Minn-Erva had to admit that it was better than _the other_ private name that she had for the human.

There was a clang.

Minn-Erva looked up from her half-eaten fruit.

And there stood Vers. Bleary-eyed. Wildly gesticulating with the electric kettle. And saying, nonsensically, “Sugar.”

Incidentally, Minn-Erva also disliked having her contemplative midnight snack ruined for the eighth night in a row.

She fixed a look of deep irritation on Vers.

Vers ignored it. “Where’s the sugar?” she pressed on. “Do we have any?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Try to get more sleep.”

A frown from Vers. Her eyes started to glaze in sleep-deprived confusion. “You know, sugar? Sweet? Goes in beverages sometimes. It’s powdery, or sometimes cube-shaped, or –” She trailed off, her frown deepening, her admittedly attractive jaw clenching. “Or. Or it’s not that. At all. But –”

“You mean sweetener,” interrupted Minn-Erva. “Have you been having bad dreams again?”

Vers turned away and busied herself with the kettle.

So painfully obvious. She’d just shouted an affirmative, for all intents and purposes. Minn-Erva rolled her eyes.

Then slanted them towards Vers again.

Vers had her back turned to the tables. It was a good back. Tight tank top. Golden skin. The aquatic glow of the kitchen nightlight was gentle on her rumpled hair, and devastatingly fetching on the toned muscles of her arms.

Minn-Erva sighed.

In irritation.

It was really exhausting. So absurdly and unnecessarily exhausting, being rather repelled by someone but at the same time being periodically seized with the urge to ride that someone’s mouth to within an inch of that someone’s unsettlingly fractured, human life. This had not been covered in the Star Force academy manuals. Minn-Erva didn’t remember hearing anything about this from her mother.

“So,” said Vers, expert in cutting off Minn-Erva’s train of thoughts, “do we have some sweetener?”

Minn-Erva decided to be gracious. This was the matter of sweetener, after all, not to mention of beverages. In Minn-Erva’s home planet, unabashedly indulging in pleasures was an aspect of life. And, most of all, her mother had taught her to be a good teammate.

“Third jug from the left. It’s liquid, not powder.”

“I got that, thanks.”

There was a silence.

Finally.

Minn-Erva returned her attention to her fruit. She flipped through contemplative topics in her mind, and settled on her childhood home: the jewel-bright canopy of leaves in the orchard; her Maman; Maman’s swirling black cloak and silver-streaked black hair. The way Maman’s mullioned windows seemed to be the glowing heart of the universe when she finally came home after months away. The way Minn-Erva had used to scramble from her favourite spot in the orchard, across from Maman’s study windows. The way Maman had made a little ritual of watching Minn-Erva open felt-covered boxes lined with crushed crepe, full of gifts. The way Maman sometimes let slip her two private names for Minn-Erva: Daughter of Mine Flesh and Jewel of Mine Heart, and Mine Own Heir Whom I Named Minn-Erva. The way Maman pronounced the words "I am proud of you," in their Kree dialect. The way that even though Maman was brisk of speech and manner, and sometimes brisk in her stay as well, her presence still never failed to make Minn-Erva feel adored.

At these recollections Minn-Erva felt suffused with delicious warmth, all the way to her fingertips.

It was a great comfort too, with her being far from home now and with Maman being so busy.

Minn-Erva finished her fruit in two neat and happy bites. She licked the sticky juice clean from her fingertips, taking her time, savouring the tart-laced sweetness.

“What’s that called?” came the irritating voice.

Vers was leaning against the gleaming counter, by the row of pastel-green jugs. She had that familiar persistent look in her eyes again, bloodshot though they were.

It was oddly becoming, for a human.

Minn-Erva licked her lips, wiped her fingers on a small napkin. Taking her time to answer.

“The lovefruit,” she said, a bit grudgingly. She’d learned not to betray such things, though, so her tone still came out blandly enough. She reached for another lovefruit in the steel bowl and, with some pride, added, “It’s from my home planet, so you’ll see it in some markets here.”

She began to peel it. A glossy dark purple outside, a lush pink inside, that was the lovefruit. It was a comforting weight in Minn-Erva’s hands, to go with her comforting contemplative thoughts about her childhood home and Maman.

Vers was opening her mouth again, but the kettle started to whistle with superb timing.

“Drink your nourishment,” Minn-Erva said briskly, “then go back to sleep.” She was really keen to get the human out of here. Minn-Erva had thoughts to contemplate and fruits to enjoy.

But in true irritating fashion, Vers continued to hover. Only now she had a beverage in hand, to be consumed leisurely, to be savoured. A good reason to dawdle.

“So if sugar isn’t nourishment,” said Vers, “is it a nickname?”

“No.” Minn-Erva was bewildered. “What? No.”

“I mean, pet name?”

Minn-Erva stared.

A smirk touched Vers’ lips. It was horrifying. “You do call me human a lot. That’s like a nickname.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“A pet name,” Vers continued doggedly, as ever.

“It is not,” Minn-Erva assured her. It was a reminder. “Yon-Rogg used to call you that as well. We all did. And stop saying pet.”

That Strange and Irritating Mess of Confusions From C-53 – now, that might pass for a nickname.

Minn-Erva’s _other_ private name for Vers, though…

“It’s just,” Vers began. She clutched at her cup with both hands. “It’s just. I remember. Someone called me that.”

“What, someone called you sugar?”

This was not good. No one in the Star Force should be this muddled and distracted. Her dislike renewed, Minn-Erva said, “It’s the trauma. Don’t strain yourself to remember, Vers.”

“No, it was a good memory. It’s good. I’m sure of that at least.”

Minn-Erva didn’t know what to say. She’d always loved what Maman called her, none of her lovers had yet come close in this regard. So perhaps Vers was remembering this: a lover, or family.

Her _other_ private name for Vers rattled in her mind, a hungry dark-edged echo.

Without meaning to, Minn-Erva squeezed the lovefruit. The tart-sweet juices dripped down her knuckles.

Minn-Erva tried to reign it in.

It was not easy. But she’d always tried, especially with that _other_ private name. And especially with the fact that this impulse went against her dislike for Vers.

Vers was making a face at her drink. “This tastes, uh, not so sweet at all.” She sipped again. “Hey, wanna spar?”

“At this hour?” Minn-Erva raised her brows. “No.”

Vers shrugged. She had infuriatingly amazing shoulders. “Fine. Thought I’d ask.”

That was just it, was it not? Vers was always asking her. And asking _for_ her. Especially during those first few weeks after she woke up in the medic unit. There was a time when she had always been nudging her way into Minn-Erva’s presence, all warm eyes and slight smiles, her body curved towards Minn-Erva as if in a question, as if in invitation. It had not helped with the reigning in that Minn-Erva had kept trying to succeed at. So she kept avoiding Vers.

Now, though, Vers looked strangely lost again. It was not betrayed by her face this time nor by her body language, this level of vulnerability – they’d been teaching her well, and she was a quick study – yet there was a strange and horribly clear moment when Minn-Erva thought that she could recognise what was wrong, anyway.

Homesickness.

That bane.

It had the capacity to seep into one’s bones, into one’s very being.

Minn-Erva would know.

But, a cold thought whispered, Vers couldn’t remember anything to be homesick about. Nothing concrete, nothing that truly mattered, nothing loved and cherished with such intensity that it was almost a sweet ache.

Not like Minn-Erva could.

So, how – how?

“When you manage to sleep properly for a week,” Minn-Erva found herself saying, “we’ll spar.”

Vers brightened considerably. “Yeah?”

Briefly, Minn-Erva wondered why she was even considering this, when Vers getting kicked out of Star Force on account of sleep-deprived-inefficiency would be a more pleasing scenario.

“I always got the feeling, you know,” said Vers. “You’re earnest. In your own way.”

There was a question there.

Minn-Erva turned back to her squeezed lovefruit. It looked like a star had burst alive. It had never looked like that in all the years Minn-Erva had been enjoying it. She examined the juices, a vibrant pink against her blue knuckles. “You don’t know me.”

And it had no chance of happening anyway. Vers would always have bad dreams, and not even remembering what you missed, what your whole being ached for, was doubly worse in Minn-Erva’s opinion. It just cemented what unsettled her about Vers, what she disliked about Vers.

Minn-Erva picked at the now messy and rather demonstratively open lovefruit.

Vers was putting away her goblet. On her way to the door she paused by Minn-Erva’s table with a slight smile. “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t know you. But I like that about you. The earnest part, I mean.” She tilted her head, and her smile suggested that, once, maybe, back in C-53, this human had a bright bursting laugh. “Maybe I even like the you being right part.”

Minn-Erva stared at her.

Vers drew even closer, the brazen fool. “And I haven’t forgotten,” she added, voice low.

“You’re speaking nonsense again.”

“Am I,” challenged Vers. “You think I’d forget what you first called me?”

“Go back to bed,” snapped Minn-Erva.

Vers tilted her head, as if acknowledging that. She also looked like someone who had a bawdy quip on the tip of her tongue, with the way a corner of her lips had quirked, with the way she had her warm eyes intent on Minn-Erva.

And of course she hadn’t forgotten. That one time Minn-Erva had let slip her _other_ private name to a medicated Vers, of course irritating Vers would remember.

Deep in Minn-Erva’s gut, though, that was a pleasing thought. To taste well with the burst of hungry dark-edged echoes from earlier.

That Strange and Irritating Mess of Confusions From C-53, indeed.

*

It was Minn-Erva who collected the fragment of metallic badge.

Yon-Rogg had been preoccupied with the report for the botched mission and with the arrangements for relocating the species of human female. So it was Minn-Erva, sat nearest to said species along with Yon-Rogg on the flight back to Hala, who was the more absorbed on examining their captive. She was fascinated with the glimpse of red blood from a nostril. She held on to the scrap of metal without telling anyone just yet.

It was a long time before the human showed signs of consciousness.

When she did, it was a bright dewy day and it was Minn-Erva who had been assigned to keep an eye on her. The human had her eyes still closed. She looked terribly frail, injured and in pain, and weak, amidst the sterile sheets and plastic tubes. Everything that Minn-Erva swore she wouldn’t become. The situation which Minn-Erva did all she could to avoid. For a time, a doctor even said that there was a risk that the human might not make it.

But the human was obviously clinging on.

She was mumbling fitfully in her sleep now, a frown deeply etched on her forehead. And she kept repeating a word.

“Mm,” began the human, followed by a shortly slurred word. “Mm.”

There was what sounded like an R in the middle. Then punctuated with what sounded like an A.

Minn-Erva leaned forward, barely believing her ears. Was the human calling for her? But that was impossible.

The human kept repeating that word for some time.

As she watched the human dream, Minn-Erva’s thoughts drifted to the badge in her pocket. To that dented scrap of metallic badge that had somehow managed to cling to the human despite the wreckage, or her to it. That fragment of a badge.

V-E-R-S, said the badge.

Vers. Minn-Erva wondered what it was. What it had been. A badge for what? For whom?

“Vers,” said Minn-Erva, testing the word, like a strange new fruit from Maman’s gifts. “Vers. Vers.”

“Wha,” said a groggy new voice.

*

“You shouted at your commanding officer,” said the one who wore Maman’s face and spoke in Maman’s brisk, chiding tone.

Minn-Erva said nothing.

She was rarely called to meet with the Supreme Intelligence nowadays. And it had been close to a year since she last saw Maman. So the one who was wearing Maman’s face and speaking with Maman’s voice still wore the bejewelled eagle-shaped brooch which Maman had won two years ago as Governor of the Year. And Maman hated old fashions, unless it was family antique.

“That is quite all right,” said the Intelligence. She gave Minn-Erva’s hand a brief consoling squeeze. “You must take care to never do it again, of course.”

“He wanted to claim it as his idea,” Minn-Erva gritted out. “Or give her an entirely new name. _I_ named her. She answered to that name I gave her. It was _I_ who named her.”

There had indeed been shouting. Yon-Rogg had shouted that she should have surrendered the badge earlier and that it was _his_ blood in the tubes after all. In a shout, Minn-Erva had let slip the other private name she had for the human: The One Whom Minn-Erva Named Vers.

At that point Vers’ eyes had snapped open and she had snatched Minn-Erva’s right hand, which was by the bed. She had proceeded to cling to Minn-Erva with shocking strength.

And then Minn-Erva and her commanding officer had been hauled off for unfitting conduct.

The One Whom Minn-Erva Named Vers.

She had shouted it in hungry, dark-edged tones. Almost jealous. Almost possessive. As if Minn-Erva had wanted to tenderly peel before devouring with abandon, and then to put it again in a box with satin ribbons, to keep and to cherish. And then do it all over again the next day. And the next, and the next.

“Of course, it is natural to feel that way,” the Intelligence went on. “It comes naturally to us Kree.”

 _Does Maman? When it comes to me?_ wondered Minn-Erva, keeping her face bland as she looked upon this one who was, in small and obvious and painful ways, not the mother whom Minn-Erva knew in the deepest most primal recesses of her being. She looked upon this one who wore Maman’s face and never quite succeeded to look at her the way Maman did, and felt nothing but duty. Not like the turmoil of feelings Maman could inspire in her. A bursting storm of feelings: flaws, faults, pain, adoration, resentment, respect.

When Minn-Erva still didn’t say anything, the Intelligence paused as well.

She surveyed Minn-Erva, as if seeing her in a new light. And Minn-Erva gazed blandly back.

Finally the Intelligence curved Maman’s full lips, this time sweetly painful and breathtaking in its accuracy, and told Minn-Erva: “And of course, we shall name her Vers.” Her callused palm on Minn-Erva’s cheek was steady and lingered a heartbeat too long, like Maman sometimes did, to show how much she approved. “You have named her wonderfully, Minn-Erva.”

_fin_

**Author's Note:**

> You're welcome to suggest if I should edit or add tags. :D


End file.
